Becoming Mutual
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: Molly always helps Sherlock when he asks for help, but what happens when the tables turn and she asks him for help? Will Sherlock be 'a bit not good? Or will it finally be the catalyst that connects his mind to his heart? Since it's Sherlolly...odds are it will be both.
**Becoming Mutual**

Molly Hooper was at the end of her rope, physically and emotionally. She had worked a regular shift plus overtime when a co-worker had to leave early to pick up family from the airport. She hadn't been able to eat anything beyond a banana and a granola bar that morning with her first cup of coffee. The Moriarty imposter/accomplice/whatever-the-hell-he-or-she-was still hadn't been caught. She only saw Sherlock when he came to the lab to run tests or the morgue to view a body, barely talking to her or even looking at her.

And after learning everything that had happened between the Watsons' wedding and the Moriarty broadcast…well, though her anger faded her hurt grew. Though he hadn't sought her out to explain himself, it wasn't as if she'd sought him out and demanded an explanation. After all, what obligations did they have to each other? They weren't related, they weren't a couple, they were just…barely…friends. She hadn't realized how barely until all of this had happened.

Oh, yes, Molly had _very_ little rope of any kind left.

And she lost even more when, as she made her way down the stairwell to the morgue, a nurse rushing up past her accidentally bumped her and caused her to lose her balance. As she fell, the very solid looking bottom stairs and landing coming closer, the moment exploded…and then, with a flash of pain, everything went black.

* * *

Half an hour later found Molly sitting on a gurney in the St. Bart's ER. A doctor who worked this ward who happened to be an acquaintance, Dr. Neha Chaudhri, was examining the sizable bump peeking out from under her hairline. Meanwhile, Molly's wrist – unfortunately broken – was being taken care of by the nurse who had bumped her in the stairwell an immediately caused the alarm when she realized the accident that had happened as a result.

Molly felt a throbbing pain in both her head and wrist, and she couldn't wait to get home so she could at least try to sleep through it.

"You're very lucky, Molly," said Dr. Chaudhri, lowering her hands from Molly's head. "If your wrist hadn't blocked your fall, your conk on the head could have been much more serious."

"So, I'll be able to go home tonight?" Molly asked hopefully.

To Molly's dismay, Dr. Chaudhri sighed and gave her an apologetic but authoritative look. "Molly, you've still had quite a tumble, and the odds are high that you've got a concussion. I'd like for you to spend the night here, so we can keep an eye on you and see how serious the situation is in the morning."

Molly gave a _very_ dismal groan. "Oh, Neha, do I really have to? I'm a doctor, and while I work with the dead, I _do_ know how to look after myself and what signs to watch out for."

Neha smiled. "I _do_ know that, Molly. But I wouldn't be very good at my job if I were to take a head wound and very likely concussion lightly. I'll tell you what: have a friend agree to take you home and keep you company tonight, then come back in the morning so I can look you over."

Nodding immediately, eager for any opportunity to get out of here an back home, Molly pulled her mobile out of her pocket with her good hand.

"All set," said the nurse when she had finished fastening a purple cast onto Molly's wrist. Looking back up at Molly, she said for what seemed like the thousandth time: "I really am _so_ sorry, Dr. Hooper, I –"

Molly stopped her with a shake of her head. "Accidents happen. And though I wouldn't have chosen this way to meet, it's still nice to meet you, Nancy."

The young nurse smiled in relief, and then went away to get back to work.

With a smile, Neha said, "I'll give you a minute, Molly," before walking towards the nurses' station with her chart.

Left alone now, Molly looked down at her mobile, and then felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Who could she call? The Watsons came to mind…but they had baby Emma, who wasn't even a month old yet. Their hands were already full. Greg…oh, no, he had his own children staying with him this weekend. His hands were full, too. Mrs Hudson then…no, it was after nine o'clock, which is when she took her nightly "herbal soother." She couldn't be of any help now…And she didn't have any family left to call…which meant that she only had one option left, and Molly didn't even know if it _was_ an option at all.

So, gulping, Molly pulled up Sherlock's mobile number and pressed the 'call' option. She knew that he preferred to text, but this wasn't the time for texting. Pressing her mobile to her ear, she listened to the ringing go once, then twice, then thrice. Then, just when she felt sure that it would go straight to voicemail, the ringing ceased and she heard one word spoken in an unmistakable voice:

" _Yes?_ "

Even in one word, Molly could hear the high impatience and annoyance. Unfortunately, the illogical effect this had on her was to make her become immediately apologetic and nervous in her tone: "Oh, hi Sherlock! I, uh, I have a, um – that is, I was wondering – if you could –"

" _Molly, whatever you are about to say or ask could not possibly be as interesting or as important as the experiment which I am currently in the middle of, so excuse me an I'll see you next time I need to come to the lab_."

Then he hung up. And as Molly lowered her mobile from her ear, the only time she had ever wanted to cry this much was when her father had died.

When Neha joined her again, Molly managed to keep her tears from falling and her voice only shook a bit. "Um…actually, I…I don't mind getting a room for the night, Neha…"

With subtle but amazing feminine intuition, the good doctor asked no questions but smiled compassionately as she said, "Of course, Molly."

* * *

" _Brilliant_!" cried Sherlock, jumping up and down for a moment, a piece of scarlet-colored litmus paper clutched in his hand. Still grinning like a kid who'd successfully gotten away with stealing all the cookies from the cookie jar, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Lestrade with the identity of just who to arrest based on the very conclusive results of his experiment. But before he put the device back into his pocket, Sherlock remembered the call he had received while he'd been anxiously awaiting the results of that experiment.

Molly had never called him before…why would she call him? She knew that he preferred to text, so why call? He felt his insides twist uncomfortably as he recalled the very brief call that she had made to him. She hadn't sounded like herself at all…she'd sounded so small…and he'd certainly been what John would call ' _not good_.'

Add this to the fact that she had never called him before, and Sherlock immediately knew that something was very wrong.

Then Sherlock did something that he had never done before: without a second thought or grimace of annoyance, he called his big brother.

"To what do I owe this phone call, brother-mine?" Mycroft asked in a bored tone.

"Where is Molly now? She needs me."

A moment of silence. "Glad that you've finally realized that, Sherlock. Let's just hope you don't, how you say, muck this up."

" _Where is she?_ "

Another moment of silence, which Sherlock knew that Mycroft was using to pull up Molly's status from his security team; she'd had a discreet but high protection level since the Fall. When Mycroft spoke again, his tone was a shade somber.

"At your home away from home. She was admitted as a patient an hour ago after taking a fall on the stairs. Broken wrist and head wound, very possible concussion. Apparently, she could have gone home if someone could have picked her up and stayed the night with her."

Sherlock seemed to go into what John called his 'buffering mode' as his entire body went cold.

"So, little brother, if you have some groveling to do, I suggest you get right on that before a little bird lets Mummy know that you have destroyed her one an only chance of grandbabies."

But Sherlock had snapped out of his buffering mode and barely remembered to hang up the call as he grabbed his Belstaff coat and ran out of 221B Baker Street.

* * *

When the elevator doors opened on the floor that Molly was on, Sherlock practically fell out of the confined space – an bumped right into Dr. Neha Chaudhri, who was in her coat and heading home for the night.

"Oi, Holmes!" she snapped. "We're in the business of _treating_ injuries, not causing them!"

She knew perfectly well who he was, as did all of the St. Bart's staff. Thankfully, she was one of the more seasoned staff members who happened to have a very good head on her shoulders. In other words, Sherlock's bullshit never got on her.

Under normal circumstances, Sherlock would have snapped right back, but he had only one thing on his mind and heart right now. "Apologies, but Molly…Dr. Hooper, where is she? What room is she in?"

Neha's pissed expression immediately morphed into one that could rival one of Mycroft's when he was in full 'Ice-Man' mode. She took a step back and crossed her arms before she spoke in a tone that matched her face. "Visiting hours are over, and you're not a family member."

"If it were up to me, she would be my wife and the mother of my babies!"

Sherlock hadn't _quite_ meant to say that – hell, he hadn't really known that was what he felt for Molly – let alone say it so loudly that a group of interns walking past stopped in their tracks and then scurried away giggling. The tips of his ears turning a very pretty pink, Sherlock looked back at Neha. Her expression showed clear surprise that quickly became quite suspicious, but then it melted into one of guarded acceptance tinged with relief. "Room 304."

"Thank you," Sherlock said before walking past her, but he only got a few feet away from the doctor before she called out his name.

"Holmes!"

He stopped an turned around, doing his best to keep his impatience in check and not start an argument that would only delay him.

Neha gave him a hard look over her shoulder as she spoke. "To put it bluntly, Molly's had a bloody awful day, and she needs to know that she's not alone. So tonight might not be the best time to lay a proposal and family planning on her mind, okay?"

His ears turning pink again, Sherlock gave a curt nod an then continued on his way down the corridor.

When he reached Molly's room, he silently and slowly approached the slightly open doorway. He couldn't deny that he was afraid to see her in this situation, as he was afraid of anything bad happening to her. But then he remembered that Molly needed him, so he sucked it up and peeked through the crack in the doorway.

In the hospital bed, Molly was curled up on her side, her back facing the doorway. Even though a standard adult-sized hospital bed was not very large, Molly looked so small. Knowing that Molly wouldn't be asleep – her symptoms needed to be closely monitored for the next twenty-four hours in order to truly diagnose a concussion – he softly called out:

"Molly?"

It was only as he took a step into the small room that he saw that her curled-up form was trembling, and his worst suspicions were confirmed when he heard a small sniffle before she spoke.

"Run out of experiments to do and got bored, did you?"

The fact that her tone was tired and sad rather than sharp and angry made Sherlock's heart twist very painfully indeed. In that moment, his mind and heart finally agreed with each other. He walked into the room, walked around the bed, and knelt down by her bedside at the level of her head. The sight of the purple cast on her left wrist, the small bandage peeking out from under her hair-line, and her tear-streaked face positively broke his heart.

Reaching out, Sherlock laid his hand on her cast and spoke in an almost broken voice. "Molly…I'm so sorry…please forgive me."

Molly shut her eyes and turned her face towards the pillow. "Don't apologize. I should have known better than to call you."

"What?" Sherlock asked, the sinking feeling in his stomach coming back again. "Molly…we're friends. It's perfectly natural for you to have called me."

"No, Sherlock, it wasn't," she said. "I should have known that you would have refused, and it shouldn't have surprised me that you wouldn't even hear me out." She still wouldn't look at him.

Sherlock flinched and looked down for a moment before looking at her and speaking again. "Molly, I swear, you just caught me at the worst possible moment. I was in the middle of an experiment that would determine once and for all who murdered five toddlers in a clinic just outside of the city. Janitors share the same invisibility level as the homeless, so it was very lucky that we caught him before any more children died." He shook his head a bit. "That is what I was working on, but I know it's not an excuse. I should have heard you out and then come right here to pick you up after the experiment was finished."

She had looked at him again as he explained himself, looking more understanding but no less sad than before. "Would you have? In all of the years that we've known each other, whether we've been friends or less than that, our relationship has never been exactly mutual. It's always been about _you_ , what _you_ want or need. Body parts, lab access, help solving crimes, saving your life and those of your friends…" She lowered her eyes again, a fresh tear falling from her eye and going over the bridge of her small nose. "And you've made it perfectly clear how you feel about sentiment and caring, how it's not your area…I should have known that you wouldn't want to do this."

The consulting detective got the same look on his face as when she had slapped him three times months ago. He didn't say a word. When the silence had stretched on for too long, Molly looked back up at him. When she saw the look on his face, she immediately felt bad and spoke again.

"Sherlock, I – I don't mean to say that you're not caring. You have one of the biggest and most beautiful hearts in the world! The lengths that you've gone to in order to protect the public and those you love prove that. And I'd like to believe that you'd do the same for me if I was in real danger. I meant that when it comes to little, silly things like this, you don't –"

But her words were cut short as Sherlock kissed her lips for the first time. He was tender and gentle, aware of her current condition, the hand not resting on her cast coming up to gently caress her hair. Molly gasped against his mouth when she realized what was happening. He pulled back, and the look that he gave her hid absolutely nothing.

"Oh, Molly…I've told you that you count, that you matter the most, and I meant it completely. But I've missed something very important, haven't I? Actions speak louder than words, as the saying goes. And my actions for as long as we've known each other…I've been an idiot indeed if my actions have led you to believe that you couldn't count on me the way that I count on you."

His hand lifted from her wrist to gently cup her cheek; she stared at him with eyes so large and wide and full of hope that dared not interrupt him now.

"But Molly…please give me a chance to change my actions, to _better_ them, to treat you the way you deserve to be treated, until you never doubt for a moment that I wouldn't do anything and everything for you. No matter how sentimental."

"Really?" Molly breathed, her eyes still as wide as saucers. When a person is the victim of unrequited love for a long time, and the possibility that it may just be requited rises, the first reaction is often and quite sensibly fear rather than joy. After all, a person can only take so much heartbreak in a lifetime.

Thankfully, Sherlock responded not with words, but with actions. He gave her a small but sincere smile and kissed her again. Having seen the sincerity and emotions in his eyes, and heard the vulnerability and pleading in his voice, Molly let her fear subside and her hope hold her up as she responded to his kiss with all of her heart – even though she physically had very little left after the day she'd had.

* * *

Sherlock continued to prove himself worthy of her by staying at Molly's side the entire night. In between the times that a nurse or the doctor on call came in to check her condition, they talked and began to rebuild their friendship with a stronger and much more mutual foundation.

And Sherlock upheld the vow that he made to Molly that night – for it was indeed a vow – all the days of their lives, before and after she became his wife and the mother of their four babies. And Molly did indeed come to believe with all her heart – well before she attained those two wonderful titles – that she had the complete love of the man she completely loved.

* * *

 **A/N:** _This was just a little Sherlolly-comfort fic that I wrote for myself after a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. It worked for me, and I hope it works for you when you have one of those days._


End file.
